RUIN: A M/M Romance Novel Page 11

  I step closer, feeling nothing but annoyed. “What do you mean you can’t take it?”

  It’s midday.

  We linger near Central Park after just having eaten hot dogs from one of the lunch carts nearby. I’d thought about this all morning, knowing I had no clue how to approach any of it with finesse.

  The sight of Griffon scrubbing floors, mopping, and dusting did something negative to my insides, twisted them up. Made it difficult for me to accept that’s what he does even if it’s just after class a few days a week. I spent all night thinking about it and wishing in some way I could do something to make it change. To make all his troubles vanish.

  I had no plans ever of assisting him at work myself with his tasks, so just as I’d learned my entire life…When there’s a problem, you just throw some money at it, and poof, it all goes away.

  Griffon keeps his eyes on the pavement, then his grays flicker up to meet mine.

  I’m confused.

  Inwardly, I huff.

  Because I knew he would be.

  Clearly, there’s no way around this.

  We stand a few feet apart—nothing but the muggy New York City air hangs between us. The black sky above tells me that in just a few minutes it’s going to piss on us.

  This feels like the hot pink hippopotamus in the room…

  Something we don’t talk about.

  We are from two different worlds when it comes to financial means.

  Griffon insisted that he pay for those hot dogs which I was grateful for, but it took him more than ten minutes to count out all the coins in his pocket, then the ones in his bag before he could give the vendor the exact change.

  It’s very possible Griffon simply wanted to get rid of all his coins.

  It’s also possible that Donald Trump is a nice person, though, highly unlikely.

  The reality is Griffon-is-broke and oh, how warm inside I felt knowing he wanted to spend his last dime on me, literally.

  So, without wanting to highlight Griffon’s financial issue, I thought I’d take care of it this way.

  “Please take it,” I insist.

  He opens the check I’d written him and stares at the digits. I’m surprised he can make them out really. They’re legible, though not perfect, since I’d gotten Bella to write it when she was more than relaxed last night. She probably won’t even remember it.

  Whatever.

  The amount is less than what I could/should be able to/would like to give Griffon, but it must be in order to stay off the money radar, since Francis is always watching the books like the cheapskate he is.

  “I can’t take this, Ryker. I could never ever pay you back this sort of money.”

  “I’m not asking you to pay me back, Griffon. It’s a gift.” I breathe out, exhausted, unable to believe we’re arguing in the middle of the fucking street.

  Oh, this is epic.

  “So what is it?” Griffon’s eyes narrow. “You think I’m some poor loser kid, from some run-down part of town, who lives in a shitty apartment with his poor, poor family who you need to rescue?”

  Now, who said any of that?

  I only stare at him, observing his misty eyes and the way the spittle flies from his mouth like droplets of shame when he speaks.

  Pride.

  Pride.

  Pride.

  It always comes before destruction.

  I shove my hands into my pockets. “Just take the money, Griffon.” I’m not sure how much longer I can contain how annoyed I am.

  “No.” He shoves the check into my chest, hard and sets off stomping down East 87th Street, never turning around once again to look at me.

  Lowering my head, I gaze at the pavement which reminds me so much of the stone-gray hue of Griffon’s eyes.

  I’d just ruined a perfectly good day.

  Fuck.

  ~

  A FEW HOURS LATER…

  After Griffon left me standing in the middle of the sidewalk alone like a reject, I found myself on the train. Then, I found myself walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Now, I find myself sitting on the stoop of the brownstone across the street, in the rain, staring at the façade of his apartment building.

  I exhale.

  I’ve been here for maybe an hour, possibly longer.

  Guarding my cellphone as much as I can from the tears falling from above, I tap out another text, ignoring the fifty others I’d sent Griffon which he still hadn’t answered.

  Maybe he’s busy?

  Maybe he went to class?

  Maybe he just doesn’t want to speak to me…

  I’m quite sure my last presumption is the most accurate one.

  Me: I’m across the street.

  Nothing comes back. The same way no replies had come all this time.

  I stare at the words, shielding my phone more than I do myself from the light drizzle pouring from the gray sky. Cars pass. They splash the sidewalk. And that unique dewy, fresh scent of water hitting steaming hot pavement fills the air.

  Griffon: I know.

  I make a face at his words.

  Me: Are you going to talk to me?

  Griffon: Maybe later.

  Me: Please now.

  Griffon: How do you know where I live?

  Me: I’m a Benedict. I can find out whatever the fuck I want when the fuck I want and about who the fuck I want.

  And right now…I want you…

  I keep those words to myself.

  He doesn’t reply for a minute but a tiny light in the window of his apartment building on the floor where he lives clicks on.

  I smile.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  Griffon: For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.

  My thoughts exactly…

  I just tried to help but…

  Me: I’m sorry for making you feel like less, Griffon.

  No reply. No reply. No reply.

  Goddamn it.

  The rain falls harder, slapping the sidewalk. I take shelter beneath an awning where a mangey dog is sleeping. Another few minutes of this and I’m going to be floating down these filthy streets with the downpour.

  The dog on the ground gives me sad eyes which probably look a lot like mine do right now.

  I shake and shiver and bounce on my toes, ignoring how soaked I am.

  My phone buzzes.

  Griffon: The door is open. It’s the fifth floor. Apartment #107. Come on in.

  Praise Jesus.

  ~

  Griffon is three feet away from me, just standing there, barefoot and wearing a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants. I move to shut the door. It closes with an eerie creak.

  I breathe in the scent of mothballs and woodchips, not exactly a combination that makes sense but that’s what I smell in this tiny dimly lit apartment.

  Griffon folds his arms across his chest. “Why’d you follow me here?”

  “I don’t k-k-know.” I shiver.

  An annoyed expression takes over his face. He stomps over and snatches a towel off a hook. “Take those clothes off. I can give you some new ones to put on and some shoes.” He holds the towel out toward me. “We don’t have a dryer, so you’re out of luck there. The laundromat is around the block.”

  “Yeah, okay, cool.”

  I strip out of my clothes down to my boxer briefs.

  Griffon doesn’t blink as I do.

  And I don’t want him to.

  Griffon’s boots—the ones he wears to work which are on the floor have the number ten stamped on the back of the heel seat of them.

  I laugh a little, remembering we wear the same size shoe and the same size clothing. I suppose two boys being together simply just means double the wardrobe. No need to shop as much as you once had to.

  Hooray.

  I wrap the towel around myself and hand everything to him. He grabs some of the stuff up off the floor himself and marches off, leaving me standing in what I think is considered to be this apartment’s foyer.

  I walk a few more steps and
crane my neck around the wall, looking left then right. It’s quiet in here. So quiet that the only thing which can be heard is the mustard-yellow refrigerator in the kitchen, chugging away like it’s on the very last of its good years.

  “Can I come in?” I call out.

  “Yeah.” Griffon’s voice slips down the hallway.

  Looking around, I’m a little taken aback. I guess I never imagined where Griffon lives. Never really thought about it. But this apartment, while warm and cozy and inviting makes me feel like I’ve taken a trip back in time. Everything in this place is quite old from the TV which sits on the floor to the lime green carpeting to the plastic which covers the sofa in the living room. This house is what a man like Francis would define as being a home belonging to the “working” man, then he’d whisper, “a.k.a. poor people.”

  Lots of photographs cover the walls.

  I stop in front of one where Griffon must be at least eight years old in it.

  Grinning like a fool, I move along to the next one of his parents.

  Griffon is the spitting image of the pair with his father’s nose and his mother’s eyes and dark thick hair which he’d clearly inherited from them both.

  Ryker stomps past me and heads into the kitchen. You’d almost think I’m not even here. He opens the door to the fridge which reveals a casserole dish inside it, a box of orange juice and a carton of eggs. There’s nothing else in there.

  Ryker places a soda on the shelf, shuts the door then spins around to face me.

  There’s something I’ve always liked about this guy…His independence. The fact that he relies on no one. The realization that he really gives two less fucks about other people, period, and what they think of him. It’s commendable. A little asshole-ish but commendable nonetheless.

  We’re the same.

  I keep myself safe. At least that’s what I want to believe…I rely on no one else to do that for me. And this boy is no different.

  I smile.

  His gaze is soft but confident and I would do anything to know what he’s thinking.

  I move closer to the doorway of the kitchen. When I get there, I lean against it.

  Griffon makes a face and tosses his arms up in the air. “This is it, my very humble abode.” I peer out the window just behind him, fixed on the dark sky and the rain that falls. Thunder rumbles the concrete beneath my feet and lightning impairs my vision for a moment. It’s treacherous outside! And I’m so glad I’m here, warm and safe for more reasons than just the roof over my head and the hot towel around my waist.

  I run a hand over my jaw. “It’s nice, cozy.”

  Griffon shakes his head and mutters something beneath his breath. I fold my arms across my chest and wait for whatever bullshit he has to say about not wanting me here, but it doesn’t matter…

  It’s final.

  I’m here.

  I like it.

  And I’m staying.

  GRIFFON

  DEAR GOD…

  I’ve never invited anyone into this shithole that is my home…

  It feels all sorts of weird, like it should be illegal.

  Ryker sits on the edge of my bed just watching me. I stand with my hands shoved into my pockets. His towel is still wrapped around his waist. I want to inhale his skin certain he smells like the rain.

  Marching over to the small table in the corner, I click the lamp on dusting the room with a soft light. Its dark in here only helped by the one window across the room where one of those air-conditioning unit rests in. Its buzzing is soft in the silence.

  “Sorry, I don’t have a TV in here.” I stand straight and lean against the table.

  Ryker brushes his hair away from his eyes. “It’s cool.”

  Pressing my lips together, I inhale sharply.

  Ryker sits back, hands perched on my bed and his bare chest on display. My eyes run over the scars on his wrists and something lights me up when I realize there are no new wounds there, only the ones which are fading.

  “You’re home alone?” He tosses me a glance.

  “Yeah, Babbo doesn’t get home until late most nights. He works hard.” I nod.

  Ryker nods too.

  He spots a remote on my bed, picks it up and clicks it on, unsure of where he’s pointing it or what it even is.

  The iPod dock on the nightstand comes alive with Claude Debussy’s “Claire De Lune.” We listen to the music for a while. The thunder rages outside and the lightning sizzles and the rain just pours and pours and pours.

  Ryker places the remote down. “Come over here.”

  I don’t move for a beat even though my bare feet against the wooden floors tell me to do so. “I can’t take that check.”

  Ryker nods.

  I rub my jaw. “No, what I mean is I’ll take the money, but it has to be cash.”

  He laughs. “Okay, sure then. I see you’ve thought about it.”

  “Yeah, I have.”

  He bobs his head and presses his lips into a firm line.

  “Thank you,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve never seen numbers like that before unless they were written on a bill. I need it. I could use it. Babbo could too.” I bury the pound of humiliation I feel when I accept that Ryker’s offer only came from a place of love, and care.

  It’s clear that this stupid fucking game we’d been playing since we met is becoming real.

  “You’ve never let anyone in here?” His blue eyes are soft.

  “No.”

  He shifts on the bed then bounces in place on the old mattress.

  CREAK. CREAK. CREAK.

  He laughs out loud.

  I laugh too.

  He’s funny and considering the shit mood I’m in, I need a laugh.

  Maybe a kiss too.

  “Everything in this apartment is older than Jesus’ disciples.” I cover my mouth with my hand.

  Ryker chuckles. “Yes, I see.” He gestures with his arm for me to come closer as he’d already suggested. When I don’t move, his request becomes more vigorous.

  I swallow back an annoyed groan knowing that if I get any closer to this boy, I’m quite assured of what will happen and fucking someone in my parents’ house is just a no-no. Babbo would freak. Something about the holy ghosts floating around here send my worries scattering all over the place.

  Crossing the tiny room, I take a seat next to him, allowing my eyes to drift over the pale skin on his chest. His defined pectoral muscles. His chiseled abs and down to his toned thighs and beautiful feet. I don’t miss how swollen he is beneath the towel. His dick slumps there right over his thigh just waiting and waiting.

  The music plays. We breathe. The thunder booms outside just like my heart does in my chest.

  Ryker reaches out and shoves his fingers into my hair. He smooths it from my temple to my ear, grazing it each time he does.

  I don’t move.

  I sit frozen.

  This is such a stupid fucking rule. But, as much as my father pisses me off, I won’t defy his rules about sexual relations beneath his roof. I just won’t.

  But, how would he know?

  The devil already sits on my left shoulder. There is no angel on the right.

  He leans in and presses his lips to my neck. I shut my eyes tight and breathe when the scent of his rain-scented skin fills my head. A kiss here. A nibble there. Then it’s wet where he sucks on my neck, moving up to my earlobe, drawing it into his mouth. His hand slides up my shirt and presses to the center of my chest, maneuvering the thin material off me and over my head.

  Before I know it, I’m shirtless and on my back, wrapped in a ravenous kiss and I can’t seem to stop, don’t want to end and hunger for. His warm lips suckle each one of my nipples, leaving them wet and beaded. When he backs away, I reach for him. I spear my fingers into his soft hair and gaze up at how beautiful he looks.

  He smiles down at me. “Fuck the rules.”

  “I can’t.”

  With a frown he looks around then back at me. “It’s all ju
st this big slap in the face so that we don’t ever forget that we’re still kids.” He pants. “We’re still fucking kids, Griffon, but we’re men. Soon, we will really be men, with our own lives, and our own money and making our own fucking rules.” He tugs frantically at the string on my waistband.

  I do nothing to stop him, only wriggle out of my sweatpants, finding myself completely naked and grabbing at his boxer briefs, tugging them off.

  My mouth crashes into his in a vicious kiss, tasting, teasing, wrapping my tongue with his, dancing. He moans into my mouth and the vibration of it moves right down to my balls, causing my dick to harden to a painful point.

  His chest slides along mine. Our weight perfectly balanced. Skin against skin.

  I crave this boy.

  I would die for this boy.

  He-is-everything.

  A helpless groan rattles my torso when his hand wraps around my cock and slides over it, again and again, teasing the precum at the tip. My legs widen when he leans to his side and jerks me off, taking me into his mouth viciously, sucking my dick into a hot wet mouth. I whimper. My fingers tear into the sheets. Then, they’re in his soft hair. Open-mouthed, I observe this sexy encounter. Moaning and muttering incoherent shit, I take everything he has to offer and then force him to release my dick when it gets out of control. Ryker’s red, red lips take me down. It all ends with a wet pop when I force his head away. I scramble from the bed, sweating, panting and rush over to a drawer.

  Rolling over on to his stomach, he kicks up his legs and smirks as I move around the room like a bumbling fool.

  I’m back in a flash and on the bed, straddling him.

  I dip down and press a harsh kiss to his mouth, then lick all the way down the line of his spine to the tight pucker of his asshole. I press a harsh kiss there, licking, sucking, tasting him.

  Ryker pushes up on his knees, giving me everything.

  With a groan, he writhes against my mouth, feeding his sexy ass to me. I kiss it all over. I suck on the tight and tender pink ring that I swear winks at me. It’s a bullseye I’m ready as fuck to hit.

  My hand caresses the meaty swells of his ass cheeks which are perked in invitation.

  A fucking masterpiece.

  Why, thank you…

  With everything slathered on my fingers, I slide them into his warm hole. In and out, they move slowly, gently, but with purpose. Ryker mumbles into the sheets and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything this fucking hot.